


Splinters and Bruises

by Mithen



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 16:42:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/981231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/pseuds/Mithen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the party descends the Carrock, everyone in the Company seems to be complaining of their aches and pains.  Well, almost everyone...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Splinters and Bruises

"My feet hurt," said Kili. "And my hands are burned."

Picking his way down the Carrock, Bilbo Baggins saw Thorin's jaw set.

"I think I sprained my ankle," said Dori, wincing as his footing slipped out from under him.

"Forget your ankle," snapped Nori. "I think I got a broken rib where that Goblin King landed on me."

Thorin's eyes narrowed.

"I'm hungry," muttered Bombur.

"I'm thirsty," said Fili.

Thorin whirled on the party, and everyone stopped complaining at the sight of his furious and blood-streaked face. "I believed myself the leader of a party of _dwarves_ ," he said. "But apparently I was wrong. Apparently I am the leader of a group of rather short men, instead. Hold your tongues and stop whining." He turned his back on them and started once more down the pathway.

They picked their way down the narrow, winding stairway in stoic silence after that.

At the foot of the cliff was a broad, shallow stream, clear and sparkling in the morning sunlight. "We rest here for a moment," said Thorin, and Bilbo heard Kili sigh in relief. "Bathe your wounds and eat some rations."

"And do try to clean yourselves up a little," added Gandalf. "For I suspect we are going calling later."

Thorin shot him a suspicious look, but didn't ask further questions.

The dwarves stripped off their armor and shirts and waded into the river in nothing but their breeches, splashing and calling out to each other happily. Bilbo found himself still on the shore, fussing with his torn waistcoat and looking glumly down at the missing buttons.

"You seem reluctant, Mr. Baggins." Bilbo nearly jumped at the low rumble of Thorin's voice behind him, turning to see Thorin standing, free of his armor in a linen shift and breeches. "Is there a taboo against public bathing among hobbits? Have we somehow offended you?" He smiled slightly. "I have the impression we do that quite often, purely by accident. Well, usually by accident," he added as Nori belched with thunderous relish from the middle of the river.

"It's not that," Bilbo said. "I mean, hobbits don't usually bathe together, but that's not a problem. It's--" He ran his hands along the torn cloth and flinched slightly, then started as Thorin reached out and took his hands in his.

"What is the problem? Ah, I see." Thorin turned Bilbo's hands over, touching the base of his thumb where two long pine splinters were driven deep into the flesh. "We'll have to get those out."

He rummaged in his pack and emerged with a pair of alarming-looking tweezers, rather closer to pliers. "Don't worry," he said at the sight of Bilbo's face. "My hands are more deft than you would think." He took Bilbo's hand in his, bending over it in concentration, and Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut and looked away. "It has been a while since I used them other than for violence, but I have worked with spun gold thread without breaking it…"

There was a faint tugging sensation, then another, and Bilbo tried not to flinch. "Is it almost over?" he said faintly.

"Indeed," said Thorin with some amusement, and Bilbo looked to see him dabbing at his hand with a cloth, two delicate spots of scarlet on it.

"Oh," said Bilbo. "That wasn't so bad."

"Where else are you wounded?"

"Me? Oh, hardly anywhere worth mentioning," said Bilbo. "Just a few bumps and scratches."

"I saw you limping earlier," said Thorin. "Your feet--"

"I...might have burned them a bit," admitted Bilbo. "All the cinders and burning twigs and such. But hobbits have got tough feet, they'll--whoops, whoa!"

He wobbled on his right foot as Thorin dropped to his knees and lifted the left, peering at the sole. "Yes, those look painful. Sit down," Thorin said. "I have some salve." Bilbo dropped onto a rock and Thorin put his foot in his lap as he opened his pack, pulling out a small pot. "Smiths always need something for burns," he said as he opened it.

The balm smelled faintly of lavender and mint, and Thorin's fingers worked it gently into the red, painful welts on his feet, both on the soles and on the tops. A lock of Thorin's hair slipped from behind his ear and trailed across the top of Bilbo's foot, and Bilbo bit his lip and looked away to the river. Looking at mostly-naked dwarves suddenly seemed much easier than watching Thorin Oakenshield tending his feet.

"There," Thorin said gruffly as he finished and stood. "Now get into the river, you're filthy." He paused and added almost apologetically, "We both are, of course. You'll feel better clean."

Bilbo hesitated a moment longer, but there was no help for it; he sighed and pulled off his shirt.

He heard Thorin suck in a breath.

"Is it bad?" Bilbo said gingerly.

"Bad? You look like you've been used as an anvil," Thorin growled.

Bilbo glanced down at himself and winced at the sight. There seemed to be hardly any unbruised skin left: angry purple and red blotches marred nearly all of his torso that he could see. "I did fall down quite a lot," he said. His voice sounded defensive--as if he needed to justify being banged up! He looked over at the bathing dwarves again, their skin relatively unmarked. "I mean, we all did, but…"

"...apparently hobbits are rather more breakable than dwarves," Thorin said. Bilbo waited for him to add "softer" or "weaker," but instead he fell silent, staring down at Bilbo's bare and bruised chest. "You must be in great pain," he said after a time.

"Oh, I guess it hurts a bit," Bilbo said.

A raised eyebrow and dubious look. "A bit?"

"A bit…" Bilbo sighed and gave up, "...a bit more than I'd ever imagined anything hurting," he admitted.

Thorin glared at him, which made Bilbo feel rather annoyed--it wasn't _his_ fault he'd been bashed against a bunch of rocks, after all! "And yet you said nothing," he said.

"Well, you told the others to stop complaining," Bilbo said.

"You are not a dwarf," Thorin pointed out. "It is ridiculous for you to suffer in silence when you are clearly more injured than the rest of us."

 _Not than you,_ Bilbo wanted to add, remembering the places where Thorin's linen undershirt was stained with blood. But he supposed Thorin would not want to be reminded of his wounds. "I might not be a dwarf," he said, "But I'm a member of this party and I don't want to be treated--"

He broke off and drew in a sharp breath as Thorin reached out and ran cool hands over his torso.

"Apologies," said Thorin without stopping. "Does this hurt?"

"N--No," stammered Bilbo. "But between grabbing my feet and--we might need to have a talk about personal space and boundaries," he said a little breathlessly.

"You are injured," Thorin said as if it explained everything. "It is my job as the leader to care for you." He met Bilbo's eyes, his fingers fanned out across his ribcage. "Take a deep breath."

Bilbo felt like he was breathing rather deeply already, but he stopped and forced himself to take a deliberately full breath.

"Did that hurt?"

Bilbo let out his breath, feeling the exhalation move Thorin's fingers against his skin. "No."

"Nothing seems broken," Thorin said. "Everything in its proper place. Unless there is some peculiarity to hobbit anatomy we are as-yet unaware of..." He smiled, but there was something strained about it. His hands were still spread across Bilbo's chest, the thumbs nearly meeting at the sternum, each fingertip a small cool point along Bilbo's ribs. He looked at Bilbo's face, and his hands tightened a fraction--and Bilbo winced slightly as his bruised flesh twinged.

Thorin stepped backward, his hands and his gaze dropping. "Forgive me," he murmured, and this time he sounded as if he meant it. "Gloin has willow-bark tea for the pain, I shall ask him to prepare some when we are finished bathing." He stripped off his linen shirt and turned away--Bilbo saw the livid bite-marks along his back and bit his lip--plunging into the river and sending up a wave of spray.

Bilbo followed more slowly. His feet no longer hurt so badly, and the little wounds on the heel of his thumb were already closing up. His ribcage still ached, but the pain was muted by the ghost-sensation of Thorin's hands on his skin: hands strong enough to break bone, gentle enough to draw splinters without pain.

The river was cold enough to numb the pain of his bruises, but nothing, he realized with a bittersweet pang, was going to dim the memory of that touch.


End file.
